


Potheads

by jaeger_fly



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Drug Use, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1926228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeger_fly/pseuds/jaeger_fly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, Chuck goes off to college in the States and his roommate is a pothead. More characters will probably appear later. </p><p>I don't really know what I was thinking with this. I'm so sorry.</p><p>Also, I can't seem to get the formatting to work properly :| Sorry it's so spaced out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potheads

Of course his roommate is a pothead.

 

This is what happens when you let the roommate matching systems pick your roommates for you. You never know what you’re going to end up with.

 

Chuck hadn’t been so sure he wasn’t going to end up with some sicko that wasn’t going to stab him in his sleep. What a fucking risk, studying abroad and knowing literally no one.

 

He’d barged right into the apartment, as he was wont to do with several cardboard boxes stacked on top of one another, a fluff of ginger hair barely visible above the tower.

 

“Oi, _Rahleigh_ , you home?”

 

That was about as much as Chuck knew about his roommate – his name, Raleigh Becket, his age (23, a couple years older than Chuck), and that they’re apparently compatible enough to live together for the next year.

 

“Yeah, man.” The voice was low and like sex and velvet and Chuck had not expected a voice that deep out of a twenty three year old.

 

If this fuckstick lied on his app, Chuck was going to raise hell at the front office.

 

“You wanna give me a hand?” Chuck grunted, tone not just a little bit sarcastic.

 

Raleigh – who Chuck still couldn’t really see – seemed to take the hint because Chuck heard him get up from wherever he was sitting to come pull the top box off of Chuck’s stack.

 

“Sure.”

 

Once the obstruction was removed, Chuck was immediately faced with a set of the bluest eyes and the whitest, widest smile he’d ever seen and while Chuck was not gay (right? right) he could damn sure appreciate – very much – just how hot his roommate was.

 

Holy _shit_.

 

“Thanks, mate,” he drawled in a very weak attempt to cover up his surprise and Raleigh just smirked at him, the bastard, and sauntered off with the box.

 

“Where do you want this?” He asked over his shoulder, brows up.

 

“Uh, my bedroom is cool.”

 

Raleigh disappeared into the bedroom and Chuck followed along after him, down the hall and into the first door on the left.

 

“That’s the bathroom,” Raleigh said, gesturing across the hall. “We just get the one. We were supposed to have a two-two, but we got shafted.”

 

Chuck scowled. So he was going to have to share a bathroom with Blondie Blue Eyes. Great.

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Chuck didn’t mean it to come out so _bitchy_ , but it did anyway and Raleigh’s brows inched up his forehead again.

 

“Okaaay.”

 

Raleigh turned to go because what the hell is that attitude after he just helped out, and Chuck scowled after him, leaning to close the door after him.

 

Twenty minutes later, Chuck distinctly smells the acrid odor of burning cannabis.

No fucking way is Mr. Sex On Legs out there smoking weed.

 

“Right, okay,” Chuck growled, shutting his computer in favor of stomping out into the living room.

 

“Boundaries and rules, mate,” he started. “We need ‘em, yeah? I’m real fuckin’ easy to get along with. Three simple rules: don’t touch me, don’t touch my stuff, don’t touch my computer.”

 

Raleigh blinked at him.

 

“Whatever, dude,” he said in return, and promptly went back to the blunt he’d been smoking by the living room window. He had a little plastic ashtray sitting beside him, feet kicked up, a line of smoke trailing lazily through the screen and into the great outdoors.

 

Called it. Goddamn pothead. Figures.

 

“And don’t smoke that shit inside,” Chuck snapped, storming over and reaching to pluck it from Raleigh’s fingers before he could react, roughly stubbing it out in the ashtray on the windowsill.

 

“Hey--!” Raleigh protested, sitting up and carefully picking the precious artifact from the ashtray, a scowl on his face as he gingerly pushed the contents of the joint back inside the still smoking paper. “What the fuck, man.”

 

“You’re gonna make it smell like a goddamn coffee shop in here,” Chuck growled, fanning the leftover smoke out of the window.

 

“You been to Amsterdam?” Raleigh seemed to brighten, but it dimmed under Chuck’s glower.

 

“No. And I don’t care what drugs you do, _Raahleigh_ , so long as you don’t stink up the place.”

 

“Dude, it’s just pot.”

 

“That shit stinks.”

 

“It’s not that bad. I had the window open.”

 

“It _stinks_.”

 

They glared at one another for a moment or two before Raleigh finally got up, daintily (daintily, Raleigh did it fucking daintily there’s no other way to put it and Chuck should’ve started questioning shit then and there) picked up his joint with two fingers, snagged his ashtray, and went outside.

 

Okay, so that was the first concession made between the two. The second was when Chuck left his shoes in the middle of the floor (again) and Raleigh tripped over them at 2am (again) after coming home from some party and crashed into the TV set, shattering the entertainment center.

 

Chuck started putting his crap away after that, mostly because Raleigh had stormed into Chuck’s bedroom, shaking a shoe and shouting at him to stop leaving his shit in the middle of the fucking floor while Chuck blearily looked up at him from under a mountain of covers (Raleigh keeps the thermostat set on 68. No negotiations. He’s crazy, Chuck’s decided).

 

But you know, a pothead roommate? Things could be a lot worse.

 

Raleigh cooked his own food and he cleaned up after himself. The weed was really the only drawback and even that didn’t really bother Chuck that much because whatever, smoke what you want, just so long as Raleigh went out on the porch or did it literally _anywhere_ but inside of the apartment. He didn’t steal any of Chuck’s shit and for the most part he left Chuck alone – just like Chuck had asked him to.

 

So that was fine. Perfect. Ideal roommate and exactly what Chuck wanted.

 

Sort of.

 

Because silence between roommates got awkward and boring and Chuck was getting tired of Raleigh getting up and going into his room and shutting the door whenever Chuck got home from rugby practice or being at the library or whatever.

 

Time goes on and they sort of avoided each other and that was fine, whatever, because Chuck never needed anyone and Raleigh had his own set of friends to hang out with.

 

Roommates don't need to be friends. They just need to not kill each other.

 

Weeks passed, and one turned to two then three, when one night Chuck got home around dinnertime and caught Raleigh eating some horrendous looking chicken concoction that looked like something a cat threw up.

 

Upon seeing Chuck, as per the norm, Raleigh immediately picked up his plate and started towards his room.

 

“Oi, mate—“ Chuck called after him, closing the door and pulling his scarf from around his neck, hanging it on the little coat rack Raleigh had bought.

 

(Another clue. Should’ve seen that coming.)

 

Bloody New England fall. It was _cold_.

 

“Yeah?” Raleigh paused and glanced over his shoulder at Chuck, expression guarded and clearly reading _what the fuck do you want I don’t feel like arguing_. Guilt stirred in Chuck’s belly, an emotion he squelched as he barreled on.

 

“You don’t gotta do that, y’know. Get up and walk off every time I come home.”

 

Raleigh fixed him with a look.

 

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want me messing with your shit.”

 

Chuck snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah, my shit doesn’t include me, dumbass. You don’t gotta avoid me. Just…don’t fuckin’ stab me.”

 

The look Raleigh gave him would’ve been funny if Chuck hadn’t been mostly serious.

 

“You’re joking, right.” Raleigh was literally the least likely person to stab Chuck, ever. Chuck was pretty sure of that now. The blond was incredibly laid back, easy going and friendly – to everyone except Chuck.

 

Which was…mostly Chuck’s fault.

 

“Kind of.” Chuck scuffed the floor with the toe of his shoe.

 

Raleigh was openly staring at him, Chuck could feel it. His face burned and maybe this had been a mistake, maybe his stupidly hot pothead roommate didn’t want anything to do with him after that monumentally shitty first impression. It wouldn’t surprise him. He hadn’t been particularly kind.

 

What surprised the hell out of Chuck was what came next: Raleigh’s _laugh_. It was loud and boisterous and completely full of mirth and when Chuck looked up he would have bet a truckload of vegemite that Raleigh’s eyes were fucking _sparkling_.

 

And that laugh was _infectious_. Once Raleigh got started he couldn’t stop and Chuck joined in because when someone is laughing so uproariously like that you can’t help but join in even if you don’t know what the hell is so funny.

 

In that moment a strange friendship had been born, one where Chuck snarled at Raleigh ninety percent of the time while Raleigh gave him his trademark lopsided smile and hooded gaze, and the other ten percent they actually got along and played video games and bantered and listened to Raleigh’s Bob Marley and Jack Johnson CDs because the box with all of Chuck’s music in it hadn’t arrived yet and the apartment and campus' wi-fi blocked illegal downloads.

 

“Are you kidding me?” Chuck demanded one night when their CD changer clicked and whirred, the magical sounds of Marley’s Three Little Birds filling the room. “Not only are you a fucking stoner that…is somehow passing all of his classes, you _actually_ listen to Bob Marley.”

 

They were sitting on the porch, Raleigh lazily smoking and staring intently up at the moon and contemplating the universe, Chuck’s feet kicked up into the chair across from him, schoolwork in his lap. It’s become something of a trend, sitting out there and shooting the shit until Chuck pissed Raleigh off or it gets too cold for Chuck and he has to go back inside and defrost.

 

“First off, me being a stoner isn’t indicative of my academic capabilities. Second, Bob Marley is like, _what_ you listen to while you’re smoking out,” Raleigh stated, sounding so matter-of-fact that Chuck sort of wanted to nut punch him just for being a smartass. “As a pothead, I’m required to listen to stuff like this.”

 

Raleigh leant forward and Chuck knew what was coming. He knew what was coming next and he was scrambling to close his notebook.

 

“Christ in heaven—“ Fuck he couldn’t move fast enough and Raleigh grinned broadly, parted his lips, and started singing.

 

“I said don’t _woooorry_ —“

 

“Oh God stop it now—“ Chuck clamped his hands over his ears and groaned.

 

“About a _thiiing_ —“

 

“Shut UP, Becket—“

 

“Every little thing is gonna be alright—“

 

Raleigh usually only stopped when Chuck tried to smother him with a pillow, and then wasn’t any exception. Raleigh’s ballad was cut short by a smack to the face with a patio cushion and another war was born, Raleigh victorious as usual.

Chuck really hated that Raleigh was older and stronger. And fuck, he didn’t even seem to have to work at it (the stronger part, that is, the older was obviously effortless and there was no way for Chuck fight it). The guy was as limber as an eel and strong as an ox. Raleigh clearly had some kind of other training whereas Chuck’s combat skills were limited to contact sports via rugby.

Contact sports that kept his ass up late a lot of times. Practices were scheduled but they never ended when they were supposed to and Chuck often found himself wandering into their apartment late at night, Raleigh sprawled on the couch watching a movie or sleeping to John Mayer.

 

Chuck’s idea of fun was sometimes quietly turning off the stereo or whatever sappy ass movie Raleigh was watching, hooking up his iPod and blasting Wolfmother at top volume to wake Raleigh up, only to innocently look at him when Raleigh snarled and spit thorns in retaliation.

 

“What? You didn’t look comfortable. I was doing you a favor.”

 

“Screw you, Hansen.”

 

Chuck grinned gleefully.

 

“Nah, mate. Your sister, though—oof!”

 

He never saw the cushion to the face coming.

 

Most nights, though, he just left Raleigh alone and would opt instead to put himself to bed. He was usually way too tired to do much more than face plant into his pillows but one night when he got home he was too wired to do anything _but_ bother his roommate.

 

His roommate, who was watching a movie and nursing a nice, pleasant high and was becoming increasingly annoyed by Chuck’s hyperactivity.

 

“Dude, do you want a hit of this? You really need to calm the fuck down.”

 

Chuck blinked at the blunt sitting in the ashtray on the coffee table and flicked an accusing look in Raleigh’s direction, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.

 

“You been smoking in the house?”

 

Raleigh’s hands immediately went up.

 

“No way, man. Just didn’t want to leave it outside. You wanna hit or not?”

 

It was the first time Raleigh offered Chuck his weed and it seemed like a peace offering. Plus, Chuck hadn’t ever taken a hit before so he was even more inclined to say yes.

 

A beat passed.

 

Then another.

 

“Uh, sure.”

Chuck was suddenly nervous and Raleigh seemed to pick up on that, his expression turning slightly gleeful as he started to get up, reaching for the blunt.

 

“C’mon then. Lets go on the porch.”

 

Chuck cast a wary eye toward the sliding glass door and sighed, pushing himself to his feet. It was really cold outside, the temperatures were dropping the closer to November they got and Chuck wasn’t wild about the cold weather. It was _hot_ in Sydney this time of year - or at least much warmer than this.

 

The second Raleigh opened the door Chuck was hit with an icy blast of wind to the face and he whined in protest, grabbing the red and black plaid blanket off the back of the couch as he followed Raleigh out.

 

“How the fuck do you come out here in short sleeves, Becket?” He complained, burrowing into one of the chairs and wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

 

“I’m from Alaska,” Raleigh said, leaning back in his chair and fumbling in his pocket for a lighter. “Anchorage. Little outside the city.”

 

“Oh.” Chuck paused and picked at the blanket. “Didn’t know that.”

 

“You never asked.”

 

An uncomfortable silence followed the revelation and Chuck was starting to really regret following Raleigh outside until there was suddenly a burning blunt in front of his face, smoke curling teasingly upwards before getting sucked through the screen by a night draft.

 

“Here.”

 

Chuck hadn’t ever smoked before. He was going to look like such a jackass trying to do this but you know what, whatever. He could handle this - you just breathe, right? That’s all there is to it.

 

It was with false bravado that he took it from Raleigh, holding it up between two fingers like he’d seen Raleigh do.

 

“Right,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up straight, and pinching the rolled up blunt between thumb and forefinger. A soft gust of cold air slipped through his blanket barricade and he shivered, eyes closing as his lips touch the paper.

 

“Just inhale,” Raleigh encouraged, his chair creaking as he leaned back.

 

“I know that,” Chuck snapped at him and Raleigh automatically put his hands up defensively.

 

“Just trying to help.”

 

“Yeah, well, I got this.”

 

Raleigh leaned back in his chair, and mimed zipping his mouth shut. Okay Chuck, have at it, man.

 

Right. Just inhale. That’s easy. He held it up to his lips again, his eyes narrowed and glaring accusingly at the burning end before he decided that just…closing his eyes was best.

 

He inhaled and sucked in a breath, deep and hard.

 

Then immediately began coughing, a noise Raleigh even had to flinch at. Raw and wet, straight from the bottom of Chuck’s lungs. Jesus Christ.

 

Chuck’s throat burned, his eyes watered and he handed the joint back to Raleigh before he dropped the damn thing on the floor. What the fuck, who does this for fun?

 

“What the hell, Becket, what is that shit?” He asked, voice hoarse as he scrambled for the bottle of water sitting in front of Raleigh.

 

It made sense now, why Raleigh always had something to drink in front of him when he smoked. Water, beer, wine. Chuck could see where it wouldn’t matter what it was, so long as it was wet.

 

“…It’s pretty high end,” Raleigh admitted, holding the blunt up in front of his face and examining it before leaning back and taking a small puff, inhale, exhale a lazy stream of smoke. “You gotta take one more. Easy, though. Don’t breath it so deep, you’re still a newbie. But, uh. Coughing means you did it right. So, congrats.”

 

“No fuckin’ way.” Chuck’s answer was immediate. “I feel like death. Like you literally just tried to kill me.”

 

Except the coughing was subsiding and a very lazy kind of comfortableness settled over him. Like he was finally unwinding, and starting to relax.

 

“Your call.” That was one of the things Chuck was beginning to like about his roommate. Raleigh never pushed Chuck for anything, and now that he’s finally offered Chuck some of his stash, he didn’t try and force the issue. Chuck said no, that was fine with Becket.

 

And Chuck, as always, reserved the right to change his mind, which he did now.

 

“Whatever, just give it here.”

 

Raleigh smirked and started to hand it over, then apparently changed his mind and pulled back just as Chuck made a grab for it.

 

“Remember. Don’t inhale like you’re drowning. Breath normal.”

 

Chuck scowled.

 

“Yeah, alright. Hand it over, Ray.”

 

Raleigh sighed with the patience that only someone who had to live with Chuck day in and day out could possess, then handed the joint back over. Chuck practically snatched it from him, holding it back up to parted lips to take a long drag.

 

Not too deep, hold it in.

 

Chuck made it four seconds before he has to let it go with a cough, grabbing at the bottle of water again. Fuck, his mouth tasted like cotton and _plant_ , if plant had a taste.

 

Which apparently it does, because that was what Chuck tasted now.

 

“Shit’s gross,” he said lazily, leaning back in his chair, arm draped over the back of it.

 

“But good, right?” Raleigh asked, twirling it briefly between two fingers before taking another drag and putting it aside. Chuck considered it for a moment, assessed how he felt, then finally nodded.

 

“Yeah. Guess so.”

 

“Not so tense anymore, are you?”

 

“Nope. Hungry though.”

 

Raleigh laughed and it was such a good sound; amused and honest and _genuine_. Chuck liked it. He liked it a lot and – fuck, he can’t be crushing on his roommate, right? Raleigh’s a guy and Chuck is a guy and that would make him gay, wouldn’t it? Probably a phase. Chuck was around a lot of dick during practices, he saw it every day and didn’t automatically drop to his knees and start sucking cock. He was just getting carried away. His roommate is hot. Anyone with eyes can see that and it doesn’t make him gay to think it.

 

And he has a nice laugh. And a nice smile. And…nice eyes. And a fabulous body.

 

…and he was talking. Crap.

 

“--in the pantry.”

 

Back to the present.

 

“Wha--?” He looked over at Raleigh blearily – Raleigh, who was giving him an amused look, eyes bright and a little bloodshot.

 

Chuck now realized why Raleigh had about a billion bottles of eye drops littering the bathroom counter.

 

“Maaaaybe we should just put you to bed.”

 

“Screw you, you’re not my da-aaa---“ His protest was interrupted by a yawn and it aggravated him but maybe Raleigh was right. Chuck was suddenly exhausted, the lazy sleepiness of the drug sweeping over him almost immediately.

 

“Uh huh.” Raleigh murmured cheerfully, pushing himself to his feet and extending a hand to Chuck who took it and allowed Raleigh to pull him up, still fumbling with the blanket because fuck New England.

 

“Whatever,” Chuck grumbled as he tugged the blanket further around his shoulders.

Raleigh opened the sliding glass door to let Chuck in and he went, shivering, into the apartment. The movie Raleigh had been watching when Chuck came home was still playing.

 

“’Ey, Ray?”

 

Raleigh looked over his shoulder at him, halfway down the hall now to his room.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“What movie were you watching?”

 

Raleigh came back out into the living room to look, reaching for the dvd case that still sat on the coffee table.

 

“Oh…Pulp Fiction. Have you seen it?”

 

Chuck gave him a blank look.

 

“Seriously? You’ve never seen Pulp Fiction? It’s huge. Like, one of those cult classics. C’mon man, tell me you’ve at least seen pieces of it.”

 

Chuck slowly shook his head no. Raleigh looked horrified and it made Chuck feel slightly defensive, but with his weed-addled brain, he couldn’t be assed to be a dick about much.

 

“Mmmnnnooope.”

 

“…Bullshit. Sit down. You’re not going to bed.”

 

Chuck opened his mouth to protest – his eyes are heavy and he was tired and exhausted and he wanted to fucking sleep.

 

“Sit. Down.” Raleigh pointed to the couch and Chuck flopped indignantly, arms folded over his chest, scowl set on his face. Why the hell was he listening to Raleigh?

 

Beeeecause he got high. Isn’t there a song about that?

 

“Popcorn?” Raleigh asked from the kitchen, holding up the box.

 

“Yeah, sure.” If Raleigh was going to make him watch this, then he wanted popcorn and soda.

 

And candy.

 

“Got any m&m’s?” Chuck asked and then immediately felt stupid when Raleigh produced a bag of the very thing and tossed it to him. He lived with a pothead, of course there was m&m’s in the house. There was candy and munchies stashed all over the place. Chuck once found a box of Cheerios shoved under the bathroom sink.

 

He tore the bag open and munched on a few while he waited for Raleigh to make the popcorn, reaching for the DVD case to read the back.

 

“Cheap hit-men and a hot wife?” He flipped the case back over to look at the front, raising a brow at Raleigh when he sat down beside him. “Really?”

 

Raleigh sighed from the kitchen.

 

“Just watch it.”

 

Chuck jiggled his leg and frowned at the case, then tossed it back onto the coffee table.

 

“Yeah, alright. Hurry it up with the popcorn.”

 

Raleigh gave a pained sigh, but eventually emerged from the kitchen and carefully deposited the bowl into Chuck’s lap.

 

Chuck was asleep before the movie ended, but it started a tradition. Whenever Chuck got home late or walked in on Raleigh watching a movie, they’d start it over, smoke a little and shoot the shit, make fun of the movie (Chuck’s main department) and horse around.

 

All in all, it could be worse.

 

 


End file.
